Seek Reality
by CookingKiller
Summary: -Shawn/Hunter- 'That's all they all deserve. You don't touch him. You don't insult him. Because. He's hurting enough as it is. And Hunter's tired of it. Tired of it all.'


_Written back in May._

_I think this is too corny and half-done, but my dear beta disagreed. So here it is.  
See which one of us you agree with... (hopefully her lol)_

_(10/02/01: fixed some terrible, terrible mistakes, changed some tiny things...)_

_Set in the late 90s, after Shawn injured his back._

* * *

"Don't touch him."

If looks could kill. Hunter really wishes they could. Burn that man down to ashes. Take them, throw them away in the cold nasty wind outside. Because. That's all he deserves. That's all they all deserve. You don't touch him. You don't insult him. You don't _touch_ him. Because. He's hurting enough as it is. And Hunter's tired of it. Tired of it all.

But of course Shawn is still enraged behind him, and the other man tries to throw a punch this time. And again, Hunter takes that arm in his hand, twists it and squeezes; a second warning. There won't be a third. There just won't be. And he's still trying to burn him down. Shawn is quiet now, and he uses his second arm to gently push him further away from the idiot. Him, in the contrary, gets closer, much closer, his hopefully lethal eyes staring right into dark ones.

And he whispers, "try that again and I fucking kill you." Hopes the man realizes. It's not a mere threat.

"Whatever!" Spats insults and walks away, looking back angrily every second.

He can hear Shawn's harsh breathing and turns around to face him, a softer look on his face.

And doesn't say anything. Doesn't need to. He'll speak if Shawn absolutely wants him to. Shawn, who's glaring at his feet, fingers clasping the belt on his shoulder tightly.

"He fucking started it."

"I know, Shawn."

Shawn squeezes his eyes shut, Hunter does too. The pain. He can't stand to see it. He can't stand to feel it.

So tired of it all.

An intake of air makes him look again.

Shawn's closer, looking at him with still glazed blue eyes, and obviously wants to say something. Something his pride, or his defense walls, or whatever, keeps him from uttering. The silence continues, for minutes still.

When it seems Shawn won't speak a word, he decides to act. He doesn't need to say anything, but gestures, gentle gestures, that he can do. That Shawn needs. So he carefully places his hands on Shawn's shoulders, draws him in slowly, and Shawn finally gives up; wraps his arms around Hunter, tightly, burries his head in the crook of his neck and breathes, breathes, swallows, sobs, breathes, and Hunter still doesn't need to say anything. Pets his hair.

"Hunt..."

"Yeah?"

But he never continues. Just keeps making those sounds Hunter can't stand. He hugs Shawn tighter.

Shawn's soon back at being angry, of course. "Fuck them." Sniffs.

Hunter just passes his hand in blonde locks again in response. Hands are clutching at his shirt.

And after a few seconds, he feels it's the right moment to talk. "Won't let them touch you." To murmur, rather.

"I can defend myself." Doesn't sound convinced by his own words, and Hunter smiles.

"I know, Shawn."

And the room falls silent again.

....

Shawn is just staring at his blood soaked hand, expressionless. Mouth slightly open.

His reflection cut into a dozen of little pieces of broken glass is half-hidden by Hunter, standing in front of the mirror. Looking at it, trying to understand what happened. Or rather. Trying to accept what happened. Because he knows, already. Just wants it to stay at the back of his head.

Eventually he turns towards Shawn, kneels before him. His hand caresses a stubbly cheek, and blue eyes look up.

"I can't...I certainly can't stop you from hitting yourself." Forced chuckle. "What did the...what did the reflection do to you, Shawn?"

"Don't fucking mock me." It's a mix of hurt and anger. A mix Hunter hears often.

"What do you want me to say."

"Nothing!" Eyes water. "And stop looking at me like that."

"Like what."

Sniffs. "I don't know! Like..that." And despite it all, he's got those eyes, the ones that plead Hunter to 'please don't go'. Eyes Hunter sees often. He wonders what Shawn sees in his own, exactly. Keeps rubbing his thumb over the cheek.

And Shawn suddenly hides his face in crossed arms, knees up. Blood drops from his hand, rhythmically hitting the tiled floor. And he whispers something, faintly. Something about hate. And himself.

So Hunter closes the gap, gets his mouth close to Shawn's ear, and whispers something too. Something about love. And him.

And while Shawn lifts his head up, he goes to the sink and back, ready to take care of the wounded hand. He feels the stare on him.

"You can't." Not really a statement. Disbelief.

"I sure can, Shawnie."

"You can't..." Voice got shakier. And a sound of pain. As usual, Hunter closes his eyes too. "Dammit, I need to move."

"Come on." Helps him up, almost carries him to his bed.

Shawn's laying down, on his stomach, expression not changing. "I..I need. The pills..."

Hunter sighs and fetches the little bottle, reluctantly hands it to a trembling Shawn, and faces the other side of the room. The bathroom light is still on. He hears Shawn gulp, another sound of pain, and something tugs at his jeans. A bruised hand.

He wants him to talk. So, Hunter will. Kneels again. "Want me to prove I can?"

Shawn nods against the sheets.

"Alright." Swiftly goes to turn off all the lights. He's still as tired as ever, of it all. And he still, still can't stand the pain. The room plunges in the dark, and looking at nothing, he promises himself. He won't let them touch him, he won't let anything hurt him, will it be...will it be idiots, back pains, himself. Stick around. Maybe forever and all.

Blindly he reaches the bed, and slowly climbs next to Shawn, who didn't move an inch. It's like an awkward first time.

It is an awkward first time, maybe. Hunter lays on his back, head turned to the left, to look at him despite the dark. The blinds aren't down and the moon lights a part of the room, a bit of Shawn's hair and upper back.

Then Shawn crawls over to him, his body obviously disliking the movement. He's hesitating, so Hunter guides him; clasps Shawn's hand to place it on his shoulder, pushes his head down his chest, tangle his legs with his. And Shawn lets out a sigh, or a sob, or a mix of the two, and shifts a little, trying to have his face as close to Hunter's as he can. Sighs again, when arms carefully wrap around him.

And Hunter knows he'll pass out soon, when the pills will kick in, knows he might simply forget about what's happening right now, knows he'll still be tired of it all and the pain won't be gone. For him, for Shawn. But. He'll stick around. He reminds Shawn why, aloud.

A shuddering breathe answers him. "Me too."


End file.
